by Eric Ugland
She had a small piece of paper and held it to me.
While this burns, we will have privacy.
I nodded at her. She took the piece of paper, and set it in a small metal bowl, then lit it from the candle. It felt like the air pressure in the room changed.
“We didn’t get the guy in Osterstadt,” I blurted. “The Master, I mean. Well, I mean, we got A master, but not The Master.”
“That is less than ideal,” she said. “Will we have to go back—”
“No,” I interrupted, worried about running out of time. “For better or worse, The Master has come to us.”
“Come to— he is here?”
“He is somewhere in Coggeshall, yes.”
“Then—”
“That’s why Emeline is staying with me. We believe she’ll be targeted if she’s on her own, and—”
“And she can use sleeping with you as a cover. I understand.”
“Right. And it’s why we can’t let anyone else leave.”
“That is what you were trying to tell me at breakfast.”
“It was. I’m sorry, but—”
“No,” she said, waving my apology away, “It is fine. We need to keep everyone here and act as though everything is normal so The Master does not suspect we know he is here. But I assume you plan to find and kill him?”
“That’s the plan, yes.”
“Not exactly the most elegant of plans, but I suppose it is for the best.”
“If we can’t get him before Fiends’ Night ends, we’ll probably be forced to let him go.”
“You would let someone go?”
“I mean, not if I can help it.”
“If we are to remain normal, I suppose that means I must still be mean to you,” she said, with a smile I was not liking.
“I guess, but—”
“After all, you denied my request to leave, and are sleeping with a trollop.”
“Why would you care about the trollop?”
“I wouldn’t,” she said remarkably quickly. “It’s just, I mean, I don’t care. I shouldn’t. I don’t. At all.”
“Okay then,” I said. “That’s settled.”
“I can do my best to make sure the newcomers do not push too hard to leave,” she mused, happy to change the topic but very much blushing again. “And perhaps I can do something to help with the ball. You are having a ball, correct?”
“We are—” I started, but I noticed the paper flare up before disappearing into ash.
“I agree, your grace,” Eliza blurted. “That might behoove my family back in central Glaton, but my father and I are currently focused on our holdings here, near Coggeshall and Osterstadt.”
She gave me a curt nod.
“I appreciate you listening to my, um,” I started, but froze.
“Proposal,” she offered.
“Right,” I said and snapped my fingers. “My proposal. For—”
She shook her head, and it dawned on me there was no need to get into the specifics of our fake trade conversation.
“Thank you for the tea,” I said, giving her a slight bow.
“You honor me with your visit, your grace,” she replied.
Priscilla walked into the room, seemingly for the express purpose of opening the door back to MountainHome, and stood there, stern faced, until I left.
10
With nothing else on my calendar — and, frankly, not having a calendar — I made my way down to the smithy.
It was loud, hot, and dirty. A place where I felt like I was actually fit to be.
I heard hammering and felt the heat rising as soon as I got near.
Inside was exactly as I’d hoped: busy. The forges were glowing, and metal was being made and formed. It was amazing to watch.
Because it was so busy and loud, no one seemed to notice me leaning against the back wall. I just got to watch the goings on of the smithy. Swords being made by one apprentice, armor hammered out by another. On the opposite forge, iron gates were being put together. At the far end, bronze was being poured into moulds.
But then someone saw me, and work stopped. Narfin, the head blacksmith’s apprentice, went sprinting.
A moment later, Zoey came trotting back, trying to finish what looked like an egg sandwich before coming into the smithy.
“You didn’t—” I started, but Zoey shook her head.
“What can I do for you, your grace?” she asked.
“I was just, um, watching,” I said.
“Watching us?”
“Yep. Just—”
“Are you looking to learn the trade?”
“I mean, no, not— just, I mean, just—”
“Can we use you for measurements?”
“Me? Sure?”
She nodded, and pulled me over to a small raised platform.
“Stand here,” she said.
I nodded.
“Disrobe,” she said.
I sighed, and started pulling everything off.
Narfin gathered up my chain, my gambeson, my belt, and then stopped me before I pulled off my pants and shirt.
“She just meant your armor,” Narfin said.
She carefully folded my things and set them in a clean space before draping a heavy tarp over them.
I frowned, but then realized everywhere else was covered in ash. She was trying to keep my things clean. Nice of her.
Zoey, along with some assistants, came back with all sorts of armor and leather for me to try on. Zoey worked to put together my full plate harness. It was different being dressed in the armor by professionals. Everything fit, for one. And when something didn’t fit, they changed it out to something that did. The armor hung off my harness, and me, in a way that was actually pretty comfortable. I mean, I wasn’t about to sleep in it, but I felt like I could wear it all day without trouble.
At the start, nearly everything was for fit, finding the individual bits of armor that went together. Which gauntlets worked best with which vambrace. Which vambrace guard covered my couter (ha) well enough to keep my elbow protected while still giving me full range of motion swinging weapons. At which point they would give me weapons and have me run through various exercises to make sure I had as much motion as I wanted. Or needed. In some cases the range wasn’t there, and I’d break the armor. Most often the leather, but a few times I bent pieces out of place. After all sorts of that fun, they moved on to more aesthetic pieces. How should the helm look, how should the pauldrons fit on my shoulders. What made me look menacing, firm, scary, and other adjectives.
The whole time, of course, Zoey made notes, writing every last detail down.
After a few hours of playing metallic dress-up, Narfin gave me my original mail back and pushed me out the door so I’d stop being a nuisance. Naturally, I didn’t think I was being a nuisance; I was just standing there. But then again, the workers didn’t seem to get much work done around me. Even the smiths who weren’t actively on my armor crew kept bringing their pieces to me to get my opinion on things. I supposed it made sense, since I was a bit like a celebrity who also had the ability to give them raises. Or whatever other niceties nobles could dole out.
Once out of the smithy, I stood in the hallway for a few minutes, just feeling good about not being touched for a hot minute. And speaking of hot, I was burning up. How the smiths handled being inside with the forges and furnaces all day was beyond me.
I needed to go outside.
11
One thing about being the duke that I like, and there really aren’t too many, is if I’m walking with purpose and a stern face, nobody asks me nothing. Everyone just moves out of the way.
I put on my stern face, and I stomped through the halls until I got outside. I felt like I was steaming as I plowed through the ever-increasing snow. A few kids were outside, however — some I recognized, most I did not — and even though I had my stern face on, I couldn’t help but smile as I saw a snowball fight break out.
I was tempted to join in, but before
I even bent down to make a monster snowball, the oft-repeated words of all my advisors came back to me: I needed to act like a duke and be seen to be a duke.
Snowball fights were likely not in the realm of duke-appropriate activities. I had that book of etiquette, so I could go upstairs and look and see where snowball fights were ranked, but a quick glance up at my balcony reminded me of how many stairs there were between me and said book. Also, Emeline was probably still there, and I just felt awkward around her. And around Eliza.
I shook my head, and continued on through the snow, bound for witches.
Their little camp looked positively pastoral, covered in snow. The tents seemed to hold up fine against the weight of the snow, but it was rather clear no one had been outside since the snow started falling, as my footsteps were the first there. The little wooden patios in front of their tents were covered in snow as well.
I summoned a host of prinkies and got them cleaning up the snow, brushing it off the patios, making walkways.
“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Cicily Bixby called out from her porch, a steaming mug between her hands. She was bundled up with blankets upon blankets.
“Noticed you didn’t come out until your porch was clear,” I replied, stepping around a busy prinky.
“There are apprentices who need to get their butts to work. Now what will I have them do?”
“Move your camp inside, perhaps.”
She leaned out to look up at the sky and promptly got a snowflake right in her eye. She winced and rubbed at it.
“The weather in your valley is a little less accommodating than our own,” she said.
“Very true.”
“I take it our interior quarters are not yet ready?”
“You know, I haven’t actually checked on that. I could check, but—”
“Nonsense, there are plenty of others who can do that for you. That a duke comes to visit is an honor itself, and you do too much for us as it is. You will only find we sully your reputation.”
“Bah,” I said. “What’s the use of having a reputation if not for sullying it?”
She laughed, and took a large gulp from her mug.
“You often come with questions, lord duke,” she started. “Is there something I can help you with this day?”
With a vague wave of her hand, the wood of Cicily’s porch lifted to create a small chair that fit her perfectly. She sat down with a sigh, and then sort of set her mug down in the air, where it balanced as if it were on a table.
“I, uh,” I started, but shook my head, “that’s a neat trick there.”
“A mere trifle of magic,” she said, looking at the mug in the air. “Though if you fail to use your magic, you tend to lose your magic.”
“I’ve noticed that. Fiends’ Night.”
“You wish to discuss Fiends’ Night?”
“Yes. Do you, I mean, obviously you know about it, but—”
“You wish to know our plans?”
“Yes.”
“We have weathered many a Fiends’ Night before, my lord duke. We will be fine within our small camp of little tents.”
“You could come inside if you want—”
“I fear your MountainHome will be quite crowded--“
“We’re family here,” I said. “We can always make room.”
“I daresay, the cold is more of an issue for us than the Fiends. Most any fiend knows better than to get into a mix with a coven of witches.”
As soon as the porch to our left had been swept off, the tent door opened, and a younger woman with a bouffant of red hair stepped out. She also had a steaming mug.
“Good morning, Cicily,” she said.
“Careena,” Cicily replied.
“I overheard a bit of your talk,” Careena said. “The joys of living in tents: thin walls. But there is something you should know about this Fiends’ Night. I fear it will be a big one.”
“Is this just a feeling?” I asked. “Or do you have something to back this up?”
“Careena does have some skills in divination,” Cicily said. “As well as deeper planar abilities than any other witches.”
“Planar abilities?” I asked. “You mean like carpentry?”
Careena tilted her head to the side and then looked over at Cicily. Both women shook their heads.
“Not in the slightest, Duke Coggeshall,” Careena replied. “It references abilities dealing with the other planes of existence.”
“Like the hells.”
“Yes, or the Shadow Realm. Or the Elemental planes. Or even the Outer Madness if I am feeling adventurous. I spend some time every day examining the boundaries nearest our own, seeing if there are weaknesses, or if entities are pushing against those boundaries. This is a means of defense. Given that our magic sometimes derives power from extra-planar entities, we need to know what is happening around us. Is this sufficient to understand that I am not just giving you the results of my feelings?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Of course. I have been following the boundary between our plane and the hells as it approaches Fiends’ Night. There will likely be a very large rift in this valley. I imagine the traffic through our little region will be quite, well, thick.”
“You think some more powerful devils might come through?” Cicily asked.
“I am all but assured of it.”
“Okay, but why?” I asked. “Why would they come here?”
Cicily shrugged.
“There could be many reasons,” Careena said. She pulled the same move as Cicily, doing a little wave to pull a seat out of the wood, then sitting on it.
I was left standing out in the snow, but I felt it suited me better. It was cold on my bare head, and it made me realize I needed to pay a visit to the Dwarven beard doctor.
“Have you been digging deeper in the planes?” Cicily asked, in that sort of teacherly way, where she already knew the answer.
“Not exactly,” Careena said. “I’m merely saying that there are reasons why devils choose where to visit on their night.”
“Shouldn’t they go somewhere with lots of people?” I asked. “Lots of souls?”
“Sometimes,” Careena said.
“Who knows the minds of the fiends,” Cicily interjected quickly. She shot a dark look to her underling.
“The headmistress makes a good point,” Careena said, eyes cast downward. “It is impossible to know why fiends do what they do when they do what they do.”
I sighed, knowing there was more going on they were unwilling to reveal. I mean, it was obvious. But what was the best way to find out? I still needed these women as allies. Didn’t I? I needed to talk to Nikolai.
“Ladies,” I said, “it is always a pleasure to visit with you. However, with the night coming, there are many things that need to happen.”
“The offer to come into MountainHome for the Night,” Cicily said suddenly, “is that still open?”
“Of course.”
“We will take you up on that, if you don’t mind.”
“Great,” I said. “I can--“
Cicily waved her hand at me. “There is nothing else for you to do for us. We have younglings that need work. They will move everything. Just tell us where to go.”
“Look for Nikolai,” I said, starting to walk back.” I’ll make sure he’s got a spot for you.”
12
“A spot for who?” Nikolai asked.
“The witches,” I said.
“They’re coming inside too? Are you insane?”
“Why?”
“Where are they going to go?”
“I don’t know, they’re pretty small.“
“We’re bursting at the seams, Montana! You can’t just—”
“I already did.”
“And you leave it to me to clean up the mess, right?”
“Isn’t that your fucking job?”
“It is, my lord duke. But perhaps you could hold off on piling more mess on top unti
l I’ve cleaned up the rest.”
“When it rains, it pours.”
“What a stupid phrase. Sometimes it barely sprinkles.”
“Sometimes you barely sprinkle.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Just a bad dick joke.”
“Terrible. I’ve half a mind to find a bard to teach you some actual humor.”
“Right after the etiquette lessons.”
“We’ve seen how well those have been going.”
“Sometimes I think Eliza has ulterior motives in our meetings,” I said.
“Sometimes?” Nikolai asked, eyes wide. “Sometimes? She always has ulterior motives. She’s a lady of an ambitious house. Of course she has ulterior motives.”
“Okay, but I think—”
“I will stop you right there for the moment,” Nikolai snapped. “Does this thought have to do with Fiends’ Night?”
“No, not really.”
“Then we will table it until after we’ve dealt with Fiends’ Night.”
“I think the witches know a bit more about Fiends’ Night than we do.”
“I would expect as much. They are witches.”
“What does that mean?”
“It is not unusual for witches to traffic with devils, demons, and other extra-planar entities.”
“You think they’re in league with the fiends coming here?”
“There is always that possibility, your grace.”
“Which is why you don’t want to let them inside?”
“I would not phrase it quite so bluntly, but that is certainly a worry.”
“One of them, Careena, sounded like she’s tapped into things a bit more. She was saying there’s going to be a large breach in our valley—”
“Well shit.”
“—and I think she’s got some idea as to why, but Cicily the head witch didn’t want her to talk.”
“Shit again.”
“You think they’re planning something?”
“I think everyone is planning something,” Nikolai replied with a sigh. “Do I think they aim to betray us? No. And yet...we do present quite an offering. They open the doors to the fiends, and the fiends feast on the thousands of souls inside Coggeshall. Likely plenty of power to come down to the witches from their new fiend friends. Perhaps even enough to take on the spiders in their home valley...”
